


You Are What You Love

by daisygonezu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - No MSBY, Getting Together, M/M, Neighbors, SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021, Smitten Sakusa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisygonezu/pseuds/daisygonezu
Summary: Victory tasted as sweet as clementines.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 56
Collections: Sakuatsu Fluff Week 2021 <3





	You Are What You Love

**Author's Note:**

> SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021–   
> Day 10: Free Day
> 
> This is my only contribution to SakuAtsu fluff week, my bad :,) 
> 
> I would’ve written for some of the other days but honestly I didn’t realize this was a thing until it was already halfway done, so that being said, pls accept the free day prompt. 
> 
> It’s v short so I might add onto it later!

July, early evening. 

It was one of those rainy days so few and far between that Kiyoomi couldn’t help but crack a window to envelop himself in the haze, thick humidity on his tongue, palpable, citrusy like an orange. Last time his sister visited, she’d brought clementines with her. It was a net-like bag made of red plastic and filled to the brim with at least twenty of those squishy, round fruits. 

Now, there were only four left. Kiyoomi’s ears burned at the realization, peeking outside his window to assess the state of the apartment across from his. Through the glass pane, he could see a light turned on in the living room, warm and welcoming amidst the sight of the downcast sky and the smell of sulfur and concrete.

_ “Sak’sa-san, how are ‘ya?” _

The man who lived in the apartment across the courtyard, Miya Atsumu, had a thick accent and tended to skip syllables at will with a lopsided grin that made Kiyoomi feel sweaty whenever he saw it. Occasionally, Miya would step out onto his balcony while he was hanging wet laundry, crack a joke about how inappropriate it was to leave his underwear  _ lyin’ ‘round _ like that, and chainsmoke ‘til Kiyoomi could hardly see him through the smog. It was a miracle he couldn’t smell it, but he had to imagine Miya’s neighbors were getting annoyed. 

They’d been playing this little game for months now, bantering back and forth with faux ill intentions, flirting like smitten teenage boys, and Kiyoomi wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out before bluntly asking Miya on a date. He’d given the man over half a dozen clementines, a love language in and of itself (at least from Kiyoomi’s perspective), but the message wasn’t sticking. How long would he have to wait before it did?

He’d never approached Miya outside of their balcony trysts. Hell, he hardly knew a thing about the guy besides his name, but the allure was as suffocating as those cigarettes he smoked, a different kind of nicotine that was slowly beginning to drag him under, and Kiyoomi was terrified to learn he didn’t actually mind that much. 

Of all the things to get dragged into, a potential romance was hardly the most threatening. Sue him for having a crush, but Kiyoomi liked Miya Atsumu. There was no point in denying it, especially when it was so obvious that even his sister could figure it out just by visiting a few times over the course of a month. If she could tell, it was only a matter of time before Miya found out, too. 

Sticking his hand out the window, Kiyoomi flipped his palm towards the sky and waited for raindrops to catch. Try as he did to look away from Miya’s apartment, that light kept calling out to him, a beacon in the dark tugging him closer each time he recoiled. Shadows danced behind the curtains; it was almost six o’clock, so he imagined Miya would be making dinner, shuffling back and forth in his kitchen in search of pots and pans, but then the patio door slid open. 

“Sak’sa-san!”

Choking on his own spit, Kiyoomi reeled back from the window with a cough, chair giving out from beneath him as he collapsed onto the hardwood floor. 

“Woah-” He heard a chuckle, “Sak’sa-san, y’alright?”

Kiyoomi slapped a hand against his forehead, internally cursing himself for reacting so stupidly before calling out, “I’m fine!”

“‘Ya sure?” His voice was loud enough to slip through the nulling effects of rain, but Kiyoomi couldn’t help but feel as though he was shouting. What if the neighbors saw him slip? 

Stifling an embarrassed groan, he fixed his expression into something neutral before collecting himself up off the floor and returning to the window. Miya was standing on the balcony, clothes drenched by the downpour and completely unaffected by the awkwardness Kiyoomi suffered from. 

“I’m good,” he reiterated, “What’s up?”

“Have’ya eaten dinner yet?” 

“No.”

“Want some onigiri? My brother’s gotta restaurant and he dropped by earlier to give me extras.” 

“You’re soaked, you know.”

Miya waved a dismissive hand, “S’just water. ‘Ya want some or not?”

“... A207, right?” 

Miya’s face brightened into a star, nodding so vigorously that Kiyoomi swore he could see the water flying off his scalp despite the distance. 

“Bring y’er clementines! I’ll see’ya in ten.”

The inside of Miya’s apartment was cleaner than Kiyoomi had expected it to be. His shoes were neatly tucked into a shelf of cabinetry on the adjacent wall, a coatrack sitting unoccupied in the opposite corner. When he opened the door for Kiyoomi, the first thing he saw was the medium-sized aquarium sitting on a console table just a few steps away, illuminated from the inside by blue, white, and purple LED lights. About a dozen Neon Tetras darted from side to side, chasing each other’s tails in a frenzy. Mildly awed by the sight, Kiyoomi failed to notice that Miya was smirking at him, a proud expression morphing his normally kind features into a mischievous simper. 

“Earth to Sak’sa-san,” He snickered, “‘Ya gonna come in or not?”

With a startled blink, Kiyoomi cleared his throat and handed Miya the bag of clementines. In response, the door was opened wider so he could step inside. 

“Pretty cool, aren’t they?” He gestured to the tank while Kiyoomi stepped out of his shoes, tucking them into an empty cabinet. 

His attention was drawn away from the mesmerizing display when Miya’s frame blocked the light in passing. He’d changed his shirt since the other one got drenched, but the new attire clung to his chest like spandex. Kiyoomi made a conscious effort not to let his gaze linger on any particular muscle group for longer than six seconds at a time.

“Was a gift from my grams back in my third year of high school,” He continued, “I couldn’t think of names for all of ‘em, so I just call ‘em by numbers. One through fourteen.”

“It’s pretty,” Kiyoomi commented, closely trailing behind him, “I only ever had dogs growing up.”

“Yeah?” Atsumu flipped a light switch on the wall, illuminating the kitchen in a buttery yellow gleam, “What kind?”

Kiyoomi stole occasional glimpses of the photos decorating his home, first-days-of-school and post-victory grins from what he guessed were old high school sports tournaments, “Uh, large breeds. We had an Alaskan Malamute when I was in primary school, then a Borzoi when I was a college freshman. My dad likes them.”

The hallway wasn’t particularly long, but much like the other apartments in the complex, it took up a great majority of the space. At the end of it, Kiyoomi was immediately greeted by the kitchen on the left, the patio door straight across, and some semblance of a living room on the right partnered with another miniature corridor leading into what he could only assume was the bedroom and bathroom. In the makeshift foyer, an overhead lamp casted an orange glow onto the couch. The TV was turned on at a low volume, but Kiyoomi could still hear the broadcaster excitedly shouting out plays. 

“You like soccer?” He asked. 

Miya turned to him from behind the dining table where he’d set the bag of clementines down and raised a brow. “Huh?”

“Do you like soccer?”

“Oh, uh... sorta? M’brother likes it. I’m more of a volleyball kinda guy.”

“Older or younger?”

Miya made a disgruntled noise, something guttural and unamused at the back of his throat before he said, “Twin, actually. Name’s Osamu. A real pain in the ass, but at least I get free onigiri.” Handing a plate of two neatly pressed rice balls to Kiyoomi, he added, “‘Ya got any siblings?”

Kiyoomi helped himself to an open chair at the table, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other tucked beneath his lap. “Two. Older brother and sister. 

“Aww,” Miya cooed, pressing a hand to his heart mockingly, “Sak’sa-san’s the  _baby!_ How sweet.”

He grimaced. It felt weird to be referred to so formally in such a childish manner. But then again, maybe he could use that to his advantage. 

Before taking a bite, he tactfully suggested, “You can call me Kiyoomi if you’d like.”

“Oh, alright. Omi-kun, then.”

He choked on his rice ball, cheeks flaming as the nickname instantly flew to his head. 

Miya proffered a vindictive snort, “Gotcha.”

While pounding a fist into his chest to relieve some of the coughing-induced soreness, Miya handed him a glass of water and slid into the seat across from him. 

“Take it easy, big guy. If it makes ‘ya feel better, you can call me Atsumu. Fair?”

Gulping down half of the glass, Kiyoomi sniffled in embarrassment and nodded, “Fair.”

Atsumu snagged one of the last four clementines from the bag and dug a fingernail into the rind, peeling from the inside out with an absentminded hum. The smell was an immediate punch to the face, potent and invasive. Kiyoomi watched silently, chewing another bite of his onigiri much slower than he had the first time. He tasted tuna and mayo, a pleasant combination bolstered by some mystery spice he couldn’t pinpoint, maybe paprika. Atsumu’s fingers delved into the pulp, juice splattering onto his chin. He swiped it away with his thumb and carried on. 

Suddenly, Kiyoomi remembered a piece of advice his sister had given him the last time she visited. Nursing her second glass of wine and a loopy smile, those drunken words shouldn’t have affected him as much as they did, but Kiyoomi took them to heart anyway. 

_“If you like him that much,”_ she’d hiccuped,  _“Just say so.”_

Once the rind was fully discarded, Atsumu tore a section off and plopped it into his mouth with a contented sigh. “These things are so good-”

“Hey, Atsumu.”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna go on a date some time?” 

“...”

“You can say no.” _Please don’t say no._

Tearing off another section, Atsumu paused, concentrating heavily on that small piece of fruit before admitting, “No, s’not that. I’m just glad’ja asked. I thought I was readin’ into it wrong.”

Kiyoomi’s neck felt hot. “Reading into what?”

“I heard one of y’er neighbors talkin’ to someone in my building a couple weeks ago, just gossip ‘n whatnot, nothin’ big. But they said y’er givin’ me special treatment ‘n that they’ve never seen ‘ya act like how ‘ya act around me. I, well... Before that I thought ‘ya might’ve been friendly with everyone like that, but apparently that’s not the case.” He grinned, “I was buildin’ up the courage t’ask ‘ya out myself, but ‘ya beat me to it.”

_ Kiyoomi’s throat was too dry. _

“Is that a yes?”

“Course it is!” Atsumu pouted, “I’d love’ta go on a date with ‘ya, Omi-kun.”

The thought occurred to him that he could have fucked up their entire dynamic in that single moment, but with Atsumu smiling at him and the absurdly delicious onigiri on his plate, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to dwell on the potential rejection. This was a win. Victory tasted as sweet as clementines.

_Atsumu likes me. Atsumu likes me back._

What more did he need?


End file.
